by Ruth Sutton
‘Who’s the man in charge there?’
‘Captain Edwards. He was a war hero I believe. Walks with a limp.’
‘Don’t know him,’ said Pat. He was quiet for a while longer before he asked, ‘You’re sure this man’s name is Desmond? What does he look like?’
Judith described the man as well as she could. ‘He seems a sad man,’ she said, ‘as if the energy’s gone out of him. Looks as if he’s not very well.’
‘I think I may have come across him,’ said Pat slowly, ‘although he was Jerome then, Father Jerome.’
‘A priest?’
Pat nodded. ‘Just a young priest, here on the west coast. When he left, he went into the navy I think, or was it the army? That must have been ten years or so ago. I’ve not heard of him since. And he’s working at a boys’ home, you said?’
Judith nodded.
Pat leaned forward in his chair. ‘I’m going to tell you something Judith, and I want you to be very careful with it. Priests are often the subject of gossip, and some of it is malicious. I’ve had that trouble myself. There was gossip about Father Jerome, enough to reach me, and I worked at the other end of the county at the time. But it’s a small world, you know.’
‘What was the gossip about?’
‘There was some talk about Father Jerome being too friendly with some of the boys in his parish. One of the boys’ fathers complained, and it went to the bishop apparently. Nothing came of it as far as I know, but Jerome did leave the parish. He went off to be a padre in the forces, as I said, and I’ve heard nothing about him until today. That’s why I want you to be careful, my dear. Is he a good man?’
Judith had no idea how to answer Pat’s question. ‘Montgomery House is highly thought of, I know that. Captain Edwards and the matron, Mrs Robinson, seem like fine people to me. Why would they appoint someone to work with them if they weren’t sure about him?’
‘Why indeed?’ said Pat.
Judith wrote nothing in her notebook, but her mind was buzzing. It might be nothing, but this was information that she had to treat with care. She’d heard all the jokes about scoutmasters and such like, but this was a Catholic priest. Was it something she could keep to herself? Why share it with the police when Sam Tognarelli was being so self-righteous about liaising with the press?
‘Is there any more you can tell me about this?’ she asked.
Pat looked up at her. His eyes were sad. ‘You’re a real journalist, aren’t you now?’ he said. ‘No, there’s nothing more. I wish I hadn’t remembered. It was a long time ago.’ He seemed uncomfortable, shifting in his chair, looking out of the window at the overgrown hedge that blocked their view out to Solway Firth and the Scottish coast. She looked at her watch.
‘I’ll have to be going,’ she said. ‘It’s a fair way back to Barrow,’
Pat held up his hand. ‘Before you go, let me say a prayer for the poor boy who died. What was his name?’
‘Steven Stringer,’ she said. She didn’t want to pray, but he took her hand and she bowed her head.
‘Dear Lord,’ he said. ‘We pray for the soul of Steve Stringer, who left this life too young. And we pray for his grieving family and friends, who will miss him always. May he rest in peace. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ echoed Judith, in spite of herself.
Pat helped Judith on with her coat. ‘Winnie,’ he called towards the back of the house. The tiny figure appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m walking Judith down to the station. Is there anything you want from the shops?’
Mrs Foster walked slowly towards them. ‘You see, my dear,’ she said, looking up at Pat, ‘how he looks after me?’
‘I do indeed,’ said Judith.
‘So I’m glad your grandmother didn’t take him away,’ the old lady went on, looking up at the corpulent figure beside her. ‘I thought she would, you know. He brought her here to tea, didn’t you, Pat? And he went to her house in Seascale, too.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Pat, embarrassed. ‘But that was a long time ago, and then Jessie married the man from Windscale. I told you about it. And after that she was so ill and was taken from us. I was in London and I didn’t hear she’d gone until I came home. I wrote to your father, with my condolences. It was very sad, so young, and such a fine woman too.’
‘She was, wasn’t she?’ said Judith. ‘Brave and independent.’
‘Like you, my dear,’ said Pat. Judith blushed. She wanted to say that she felt like a manipulative cheat.
Together they walked down the hill to the station. At the harbour the gulls were screaming and wheeling on the wind and white tops broke on the open sea.
As she turned to go to the train, Pat reached for her hand and held it. ‘You’ll remember what I said about Father Jerome?’
‘I remember,’ she said.
‘Gossip is a wicked business. Be kind, Judith.’
‘I will, Pat,’ she said. ‘Thanks for giving me your time, and thank Mrs Foster too.’
‘Come and see us again,’ he said. ‘We need young company.’
‘I will,’ she said. But sitting on the train as it headed south Judith wondered if she ever would see them again.
She wasn’t sure what to do. Sam must have checked out Desmond Harries as a matter of routine, but maybe he hadn’t gone far enough back. And where would he find what she had learned today? Gossip, maybe, but smoke and fire were closely connected. The possibilities swirled around in her head. And there was another question in Judith’s mind, about Anthony Lennon. Donna had mentioned his funny voice and that fact that he looked as if he’d been in the sun. Maybe he was one of the boys who went off to a new life somewhere. She’d never heard of such a thing before, but someone had to know about it. She scribbled in her notebook as the train bumped along, before the view distracted her again.
❖ ❖ ❖
It was early afternoon by the time she got back to Barrow. The newsroom was quiet, apart from the thud of Hattie’s typewriter. She looked up as Judith pushed back her chair.
‘Where is everybody?’ Judith asked.
‘Ed’s at lunch, Alan’s at a meeting somewhere and Skelly’s at the cop shop. There’s a flap on. Not seen him so excited in ages.’
‘What about?’
‘More trouble at Attercliff, that boys’ home. Another body, in the woods this time. Sounds like someone topped himself.’
Judith put her coat back on and ran all the way to her flat to get the Vespa.
CHAPTER 11
By the time Judith reached Montgomery House it was almost completely dark, and any remaining light was blocked by large trees that surrounded the front of the building. The gravel drive crunched as she parked her scooter out of sight against the side wall. She felt like a trespasser; secreting the scooter seemed to like a necessary act, and there was no time to reflect on why that should be so.
This time she didn’t approach the main door but found her way round the outside of the house to where she guessed the path would lead down into the woods towards the shore. Reaching the end of the path she could see lights on the other side of the road, where more old tall trees spread down to the sea. Lights in the wood shone like early stars that had fallen to earth. A car was parked by the side of the road and she climbed the fence to get to the scene as directly as she could. Beams of torches flashed intermittently among the trees and she heard the men’s voices before she saw where they came from. Suddenly she stopped. Something long and dark swung gently from a low branch a few yards ahead of her. On the ground beside it, next to an overturned wooden box, stood a policeman in uniform and two others in plain clothes. One of them was Sam Tognarelli. She stood quite still, watching, listening.
A torch beam found her face and she blinked into it, aware only of a figure moving towards her. The uniformed policeman’s hand reached to grip her arm, and pulled her forward.
‘What the hell’s she doing here?’ said one of the men, and another of them groaned. It was Sam. ‘Bloody press!’ he said. ‘The jungle drums have
been busy, and here she is again.’ He turned to the man standing next to him. ‘Harry, you’ve probably met Judith Pharaoh from the Furness News. Don’t tell her anything, and keep her away from here, constable. There’s enough people tramping around as it is.’
‘Park her by the tree where she was, well out of the way,’ said Harry Grayson. ‘And where the hell are the scene of crime gang? Can’t get the body down till they’ve checked everything out.’
‘Who is it, do you know?’ asked Judith, looking at the gently swinging corpse.
Harry turned back to Sam, who shrugged. ‘She’ll recognise him anyway. It’s Harries from the home.’
‘Desmond Harries?’
‘Yes, Desmond Harries,’ Sam repeated scornfully. ‘How many men called Harries did you meet there? I only met one.’
Judith smarted. You pompous prick, she thought, tempted to tell them what she had discovered that they had no clue about, but she said nothing, pulled herself away from the constable’s grip and reached for her notebook.
‘What can you tell me?’ she said.
Harry Grayson walked over to her and led her back into the trees, away from the scene towards the road. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘a couple walking a dog through the woods about an hour ago spotted him and ran up to the road to flag down a ride to Barfield and the phone. Your friend DC Tognarelli and I got here ten minutes ago and now we’re waiting for people to check the scene and you are waiting for what we choose to tell you, when we know something ourselves. All clear so far, Miss Pharaoh? We’ve had old man Skelly here already, and his mate from the Ulverston Record, and we sent them packing, too. They’re probably propping up the bar at the Bay Horse as we speak, reminiscing about old times, so why don’t you push off and join them? I’m sure they’ll love your fresh young company.’
Judith ignored the snub. ‘Has anyone been up to Montgomery House?’ she asked.
‘No they haven’t and if you dare interfere with our investigation by going up there yourself, I’ll have your editor in for obstructing the police. Got that?’
There was nothing Judith could say, but she wondered if someone at the house had already seen her. Thank goodness she’d hidden the scooter.
She checked her watch. It was coming up to seven o’clock. Best thing was say nothing, leave quietly, pick up the scooter without being seen and check in with Skelly at the Bay Horse. With Sam around there was no chance of rules being bent at the scene, so the only plan was to latch on to Skelly’s coat-tails and hope he would let her keep the story.
Left alone, and with only the faintest gleam from the lights, Judith climbed the fence, crossed the empty road and walked back towards Montgomery House, not on the path but to the side of it in the trees, to end up on the side of the building where she’d left the scooter. At the edge of the trees she stopped. The house was full of lights, upstairs and down. She could hear children’s voices and saw their shadows pass one of the windows on the first floor. An adult voice sounded dangerously close and she shrank back into the protective darkness of the trees. Two young women, arm in arm, walked quickly round from the back of the house and down the path that led to the road into the village. They were talking together but too softly for her to hear.
‘Nobody knows,’ Judith said to herself. ‘Harries is hanging from a tree a few hundred yards away and nobody knows he’s there.’ The urge to tell them, to ring the front door bell and stand there and tell them what she knew, all of it, was very strong. Captain Edwards, Sam, Grayson, even the dumbo in the uniform, she wanted all of them to notice her and listen to her and take her seriously. But instead, keeping in the shelter of the trees, she crept round the back of the house, waited until she was sure she would not be spotted, and pushed the scooter beside her into the woods and down the back path to the road. She could see the lights and torches in the wood to her right as she started the engine, turned the scooter to the left, and headed towards the Bay Horse.
❖ ❖ ❖
‘Well, well,’ said Harry as they heard her scooter purring down the road. ‘She was pretty quick off the mark.’ His face and its raised eyebrows were in shadow, but Sam could hear the inference in the voice. ‘Not what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tip her off. OK, she’s better-looking than Bill Skelly but she thinks the same way, anything for a story. Trouble is she’s a friend of Elspeth’s and keeps hanging around. God knows what Elspeth’s up to, but if she keeps on trying to make us all get on with each other I might have to leave.’
Harry said, ‘She won’t say anything, up at Monty House, will she? We’ll have to go up there as soon as the scene of crime blokes get here. We’ve had a positive ID from you, but I want to see how they react up there.’
‘She wouldn’t dare,’ said Sam. ‘She told me herself that her job’s on the line and she has to keep in with the boss.’
‘I laid it on pretty thick about obstructing the police, and threw in that I’d report to her editor if she got in our way.’
‘Thornhill’s OK. Skelly’s like a dog with a bone. Not sure why they gave Judith the story, but someone’s off sick. They must be short of people.’
‘Judith, eh?’ Harry tried again.
‘Give it up, Harry. I’m not interested, and even if I was, she’d have to go through proper channels to get any information, right?’
‘Right,’ Harry agreed, and Sam knew what he was thinking.
‘They’re ’ere,’ said the constable, as lights approached through the trees.
The two detectives greeted the new arrivals and briefed them. More lights were set up and photographs taken, the flash lighting the scene with gruesome brilliance. The wooden box was photographed from various angles and examined carefully before being lifted with gloved hands and tagged. A ladder was placed carefully against the trunk of the oak tree that the dead man had chosen as the last place on earth that he would see, and after a few more minutes of examining knots, the body was lowered to the ground and onto a stretcher. Harry looked carefully through the pockets of the dead man’s jacket.
‘Eyup,’ he said, and his gloved fingers pulled something into the light. The paper shone white in the torchlight as Harry unfolded it and the two men read the few words together. Tell Mam I’m sorry. That was all.
‘Maybe he was in a hurry,’ said Sam.
‘Or maybe someone else wrote it,’ Harry added. ‘But it would have to be someone who knew his mam was still around. We’ll get some of his writing from up at the house. Must be plenty of it around, him being a teacher.’
Sam took an evidence bag from the case he’d brought with him, refolded the note and dropped it in.
‘OK, lads,’ he said. ‘He’s all yours, and we need a fingertip search all round this patch. Looks pretty straightforward but you never know.’
The scene of crime team divided up the small clearing in which they were standing and dropped to their knees, keen to discover as much as they could before possible rain overnight made the facts, however obvious they might appear, even harder to ascertain. The two detectives watched for a while, deciding how to break the news to Edwards and the others at Montgomery House.
❖ ❖ ❖
The Bay Horse was deserted apart from two men leaning on the bar, and the barman who was standing to one side reading the paper. They all looked up when Judith walked in.
‘Judith Pharaoh, Ace Reporter,’ said Bill Skelly. The cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth waggled as he spoke. ‘What’ll you have, my dear?’
‘Introduction, please Bill,’ said the other man. ‘Not met this young lady before. I would have remembered.’
Judith stood her ground, wondering what Skelly would say next and remembering Irene’s assurance that she would be treated properly from now on. And it was all right. Bill introduced Judith to his counterpart from the Ulverston Record without a trace of innuendo or disrespect. ‘John Shaw,’ said the other man, shaking Judith’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Hattie told me where you were,’
said Judith, perching beside Bill on a stool at the bar. ‘I’ll have a lime and lemonade please.’
‘Steady on,’ said Bill, but he ordered what she asked for without further comment.
‘We got a call, probably from the same people that called the police,’ said John Shaw. ‘They must have been from our patch and they called our newsroom. I knew about that kid in the quicksand that the Barrow force are handling, put two and two together, and called Bill.’
‘That new CID bloke’s down there,’ said Judith. ‘Have you met him, Bill?’
‘Pain in the arse, by all accounts,’ said Bill. ‘And that’s the polite version. Do they know who it is?’
‘They do, and I do too. It’s a bloke called Harries, from Montgomery House. Met him last week when they found the kid’s body. He didn’t say much, but he looked pretty upset.’ She paused. ‘And today I found out a bit more about him.’
‘Wondered where you were today,’ said Bill.
Judith’s explanation about why she went to Maryport to see Pat O’Toole took a little while, as she made up her mind about how much to share. She knew that as soon as Bill learned what she knew, she’d lose control of it. She remembered what Pat O’Toole had said about being kind, but Bill was her boss and the lure of a story trumped ‘kind’ every time with him. She decided she had to tell them. ‘There were complaints from parents about Harries and then he left the parish,’ she said.
John Shaw slapped his spare hand on his thigh. ‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘A pervy priest. Oldest story in the book, but it always goes down well with everyone, bar the Catholics.’
‘And there are plenty of those around,’ said Bill. ‘My missus for a start.’
Judith was surprised. She wondered whether Bill ever confessed anything in the dark box to invisible clerical ears.
‘What else did this priest friend of yours tell you?’ Bill asked.